Buried: Descent
by Pentangle-linnon
Summary: Part 1. A young Aragorn has a dreadful time in Mirkwood. Aragorn, Legolas, Elrond, Glorfindel
1. Chapter 1

Title: Buried: Descent 1/8

Author: Pentangle

This story chronologically follows "Choosing" (where Estel meets Sadoreth). There is no need to read "Choosing" first. If you want to read it the fic is at under the name Pentangle.

Slightly AU: Elrond has raised Aragorn (Estel) as his son, Gilraen is out of the picture, and Elrond has recently told Estel something (not all) about who he is and about his destiny. Estel and Legolas have known each other since Aragorn came to Imladris.

Many thanks to my beta Niroveka!

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**Flash-forward**

Aragorn was 15 years old. He was in the forests of Mirkwood. He was sick. He was alone. At least he thought he was alone. It was hard to be sure with all these people around.

Estel, lying on the ground, shivered and retched again. One Elrond scornfully derided his physical weakness. "Sniveling engwar! Wallowing in your own vomit! Crawling like a beaten dog, whimpering and whining."

"Ada, help me!" Aragorn gasped, struggling to reach a shaking hand toward his father. The stern figure swept his robes' skirts distastefully away from his son.

The other Elrond was worse.

That one stooped and patted his son's hair perfunctorily. "Such a shame. Years wasted in raising a light-weight. You cannot help it, of course. We tried, all of us, but look at the material we had to work with. Estel! Hah! We should have named you Kaulo. You are weak, cowardly: a slaveling when we needed a king."

Estel tried to ignore them, but their words bit deeply. He drew his hands along the stony ground and put his palms on either side of his ribs. He pushed with all his might. His head moved upward a few inches, then his chest. His arms were shaking; his gasping breath whistling harshly. The first Elrond laughed heartily as though the sight was the funniest thing seen in a long, long life. The other Elrond "tsked, tsked" sadly. The two walked off, arm in arm. Estel looked after them in disbelieving sorrow.

His arms gave out and his head hit the ground hard. Two familiar boots entered his field of vision and stopped within inches of his face.

"No," he whispered in utter despair, "Not you. Please, not you."

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Engwar: 'the sickly', mankind

Kaulo: great burden, affliction

**Chapter 1**

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**One month previously, in Mirkwood**

Estel lay in bed and groaned in frustration as the first tremble began in his hands. The healer pulled a long, thin rod of soft wood, carefully shaped and smoothed, from the goblet that held a dozen such. He held it to the fifteen year-old's mouth and waited patiently. They were always patient. Their faces were serene and carefully smoothed of all emotion. They hated tending a human but never allowed it to show, by expression or word. Their King had given explicit instructions and their Prince reinforced them by his constant presence. But neither Prince nor King could make them feel compassion or warm their cold touch and voices. It is hard to be fifteen, ill, and despised by your caretakers.

The hand with the wooden rod waited still, and with a defeated sigh the boy opened his mouth and accepted it like a bit in a horse's mouth. He closed his teeth firmly. The hand disappeared from before his face and clasped his right wrist and pressed it into the bed. The other healer in the room grasped both ankles. It had become a ritual. A macabre dance for four participants.

The door to Estel's room opened and the Prince of Mirkwood stepped inside. He frowned when he saw the healers holding the young man he was inordinately fond of.

"Again? Surely the attacks are increasing, not decreasing! You assured me that the herbs we gathered would cure him!"

"Your Highness, we are doing everything that can be done. Since you have insisted on participating in his care, please take your place."

Legolas stepped quickly to the bedside and grasped the other wrist. The trembling, so innocuous at first, increased in intensity, spreading from the extremities to Estel's entire body. Soon he was jerking and convulsing, nearly breaking from the strong hold of the three elves. For nearly five minutes the boy's body fought their hold, and then, as always, the attack lessened slowly until he was left weak and gasping. The hand (that same hand, how he would like to bite it!) appeared to take the rod, now deeply indented, from his mouth as Legolas gently wiped the cold sweat from his face with a soft cloth.

Legolas spoke soothingly to Estel and watched as he fell asleep as he always did after an attack. The Prince then looked sharply at the healers.

"This cannot continue. It has been two weeks since he was bitten, and although the worst of the sickness passed quickly, these seizures will surely do him permanent harm if they are not stopped. Further, we were to have started the return trip to Imladris by now. I think we should proceed even as he is. Lord Elrond will be able to help him more than you have done!"

The first, and most senior, healer frowned austerely. "I doubt that Elrond-"

"Lord Elrond."

"-that Lord Elrond will have any better remedy than we can provide. And the human cannot undertake a journey in this condition."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We are already doing –"

"I know: 'everything that can be done.' I believe that is the hundredth time you have told me so!"

"These attacks are unprecedented. We have never seen them before as a result of bristle bug poisoning. It must be because he is human. There may be no cure. It is unfortunate but…" The healer made a small gesture, as though tossing something away.

The Prince moved closer to the healer and his voice became softer and he smiled gently. It was not a smile that reached his eyes.

"I think that perhaps you are mistaken in your beliefs about this human child. You think that my father cares only because _I _care, and that I will care not at all once he is dead and out of my sight. Allow me to clarify our position. This boy is a guest of the Royal House. However my father may feel about humans, he will not look kindly on anyone who allows the slightest dishonor to shadow our name. And there is another factor that you may not have considered. Imladris, little though it is regarded here, is a major force in the larger world beyond Mirkwood. I do not believe that you will relish a visit from the foremost healer in Middle Earth, not when it is his son that you have allowed to fail. Nor will all the warriors we can field be enough to stop Glorfindel and his cohort if Estel dies. He is another who has love for the youngest son of Lord Elrond. Mayhap you will have heard of him – he is called 'the Balrog Slayer.'"

The healer stepped back a step and swallowed hard. Legolas followed him and spoke softer still.

"Now look at me carefully. Do you see one who will quickly forget the loss of this boy? He is not my pet. You may think of me what you will; I am not ashamed that I have much love in my heart for him. If he does not recover, it is possible—in my great grief, you understand—that I may do something foolish. Something foolish that will make whatever happens when the fully armed and angry contingent from Imladris arrives of no importance—to _you_."

The healer stepped back again, rather hastily, and blustered, "Your Highness! You forget yourself! But I will make allowances for your distress. I assure you that we will make renewed efforts to discover why the poison has affected him so strangely. Obviously the valerian is not working as it should. We will try other, stronger medicaments."

"Find something. Now leave us; I will watch over his sleep.

A short time later, Estel opened his eyes and saw his friend sitting beside him, reading. "Was it as exciting as usual? I can never remember much about it, afterwards."

"You kept us busy for a time." Legolas put aside his book. "How are you feeling? Would you like something to drink?" The elf reached for the decanter of water that was always placed on the bedside table.

"Thank you, yes. You know I always feel quite well after the attacks; well enough to get up. Please?" He took the offered cup and gave Legolas his best wheedling expression. He made no demur when Legolas held his own hand atop Estel's to steady the cup to his lips. There were few he would willingly show weakness before, but the blonde elf had long since persuaded him, by ruthless and arbitrary means, that there was no point in pretending with him. Legolas replaced the cup and Estel asked again.

"Please let me get up. I have not been allowed up for days. I should have at least a few hours before the next one hits."

"I see no reason why you may not. I will take on the healers, if necessary. I think they disapprove of any independent action taken by a patient, just on principle."

Estel swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He wore the lightest of leggings and a loose shirt of the finest linen Mirkwood could provide. His hair was clean and his nails trimmed. He received every care from the healers. But they were brrrr, so cold. Aragorn often wondered with a shudder what would have happened to him if the prince had not been there to oversee his tending.

Legolas slid an arm around his waist and when Estel tried to push it away, the elf frowned him down. "You are often shaky when you first stand up. You will allow my help, young man, or you will stay in bed!"

Since Estel was swaying gently, like a young willow, he wisely kept his tongue between his teeth and simply let Legolas help him to the window seat. The healing rooms were unusual in the Mirkwood palace as they had access to the outdoors. Estel settled with a sigh of contentment and looked out at the surrounding forest. The afternoon sun of late summer slanted through the leaves and Estel wanted to be out there: riding, walking, swimming, and just being free of the fusty sick room atmosphere. Legolas watched his young friend and marveled at the changes time had brought to him.

Aragorn had nearly reached his full height and his face had fined down from the plump-cheeked boy Legolas had seen two years ago. There had been brief glimpses of the man in the boy he had known, but now the promise was coming to fruition. When Legolas had finally returned to Imladris, their reunion had been a joyous one and this trip to Mirkwood together was Estel's first venture without at least one of his father's household along for protection.

All had been well until Aragorn had (inevitably, snorted Legolas) been bitten by a poisonous insect. He had been sick for two days but then seemed fully recovered. Until the seizures had started.

This foul illness, whatever it was, was taking its toll. Legolas noted uneasily the gauntness in the cheeks, the pallor that had replaced the normal healthy tan. Estel had the resilience and strength of youth, but he could not continue having these seizures, especially as they seemed to be increasing in frequency as time went on. Legolas had begun to truly fear for him.

As Legolas watched the boy he contemplated that fear. How had this ephemeral human taken such a hold on his heart? Estel was compassionate, but so was Elrond and Legolas hardly wanted him for a boon companion. He was very intelligent, but so was Erestor. Trying to picture himself and Erestor a-roving was impossible. Legolas had many friends but Estel was different. Just then the boy turned his eyes to his friend and smiled. There. That was it, or a good part of it. Estel did not just look at you, he _saw_ you. Did all future kings of Middle Earth have that deep, penetrating gaze? With no other heirs of Isildur about, Legolas could not say. He just knew that somehow the boy looked on him and saw him, all of him, and accepted and loved what he saw. It was impossible not to return the feeling.

Estel enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air for an hour or so before the door opened again and the chief healer came into the room. He frowned at seeing his patient out of bed, but had other, more momentous things on his mind.

"Your Highness, we believe that we have found something that will help!"

The healer continued, "As soon as we think another attack is imminent, I intend to dose him with syrup of poppies."

"I have had that for pain, many times. I was not having seizures!"

"No, of course not, but one of my apprentices has found references to the syrup in an old herbal. It is listed as a remedy for spasms and rigors of the body!"

"How soon will you give it to him?"

"We will watch carefully. He usually begins to sweat, then the trembling starts. As soon as we see the slightest movement, we will give him the dose."

Across the room, Estel raised one hand and waggled the fingers. "Hello, there! 'Him' is right here; 'him' can hear you. 'Him' can even speak and participate in the discussion about 'him'."

Legolas laughed. "I am sorry, Estel. How much warning can you give us that you will have another attack?"

"I begin to feel tingles even before the sweating starts. I will let you know."

The following hours were interminable for everyone, particularly Estel. As the time when an attack might be expected grew closer, he felt like a caterpillar on Elrond's salad. Even the most lethal amount of 'eyebrow' was not as unnerving as what he now endured. Two pairs of grey eyes (healers) and one pair of blue (Legolas) watched him with unblinking intensity. He tried to read, but any slight sigh or stretch of cramped muscles caused all three watchers to lean forward and intensify their stares. Finally, the boy began to pray for the next seizure to begin. Ah! At last!

"I think one is beginning. Yes, here it comes." The telltale sheen of sweat appeared and his left hand twitched. The healers and Legolas sprang into motion with such force that Estel was startled back against his pillows. The second healer grabbed a wooden rod and made the other preparations that had become habitual. The first healer carefully poured a tiny medicine cup full of the poppy syrup. Before anyone could pour it down his throat, Estel grabbed the cup and tilted it into his mouth. He was not completely helpless! The stuff was thick and cloying and nauseatingly sweet. Legolas, familiar with it from the treatment of past injuries, quickly offered a cup with a few swallows of water which Estel gratefully accepted. The cup shook violently as he reached to set it down and he stretched out in the bed and accepted the wooden rod in his mouth, yet again.

End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

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A half-hour later, three disappointed elves stood about Estel's bed. Their emotion was evident through their whispers as they sought not to wake the sleeping boy.

"Nothing! The poppies did nothing for him! This attack was as bad as the last."

"Perhaps we need a stronger dose or – "

Estel giggled.

The three stopped and stared at him.

"Estel? Are you awake?"

"Mmmmmm. I think so. Are you?"

"Estel? Is something wrong?"

The boy had a beatific smile on his face. He raised one hand to pat Legolas and assure him he was very well indeed, but somehow the hand raised itself off the bedclothes for a foot or so, then just fell, bouncing a little. The first healer looked at the hand intently, then stepped forward and picked it up. He lifted it high and dropped it. The hand fell limply and bounced twice. Estel watched interestedly, as if the hand did not belong to him.

"Bouncy, bouncy."

"Estel!" Legolas looked at the chief healer. "What is wrong with him!"

The healer smiled primly. "It is one of the effects of the poppy syrup. Apparently, just as humans are more, er, affected by spirits than we are, they are more affected by the properties of the syrup, as well."

"This is appalling!"

"Perhaps not. I have an idea how to use the syrup more efficaciously. You noticed the lack of rigidity in his muscles? He may now not be capable of having a seizure. I suggest we keep him heavily dosed for the rest of the day and see what happens."

Legolas looked dubiously at his very relaxed and happy friend. "Will it harm him to be like this for hours?"

"I cannot truthfully say. But we have all agreed that the seizures must be stopped; I am simply proposing an experiment. If it does not work, we will, of course, stop giving him the poppy syrup at once."

Twenty-four hours later the three again stood around the bed.

Legolas was almost as light-headed as Estel with relief. "I cannot believe that he has not had an attack. Have we truly found the answer?"

The head healer hid his considerable satisfaction (Elrond—foremost healer indeed! Perhaps now his Prince would sing a different song!) "It is too soon to say. I propose that we maintain this dosage and frequency of administration for the next few days. If it works we will maintain that level in his body until we are certain the cycle has been broken. That may take some time. I must say, he is an easier patient to deal with at present!"

Estel smiled happily, "I should like a present. A very large present with silver ribbons."

Legolas looked from Estel to the healer helplessly. "You think _that_ is easier to deal with?"

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When two weeks had passed with no attacks, Legolas took quill in hand and scratched an embassage to the Lord Elrond of Imladris. Now that there was better news, it was time to let Estel's father know what had been happening to his son. He sent a messenger with instructions to ride with all speed to the valley.

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One week later, in Imladris

Elrond read the parchment with relief at first. Estel being Estel, he had been naturally been bitten by some poisonous fauna or other, indigenous to Mirkwood. Thankfully, the initial sickness had passed. As he read on, however, he became more and more concerned. By the time he was finished, he was as frightened as on the occasions Estel had been brought home at death's door. He hurled the parchment from him and shouted for Erestor. The councilor came from the study next door with his eyebrows doing a fine imitation of his liege's.

"You roared, my lord?" But his humor disappeared at the expression on Elrond's face.

"Erestor, send to Glorfindel and tell him to prepare an armed party, a dozen or so. Provision them for a forced march to Mirkwood. Have an extra horse for every elf. We will not stop for rest and we will change horses every three leagues –"

"WE? Elrond, you cannot go with them! Whatever it is, Glorfindel can deal with it!"

"Erestor, they are _killing_ Estel in Mirkwood!"

Erestor's mind reeled. "What! Thranduil may harbor ill feelings toward you but surely he would not risk open war by harming Estel! And even if he did, twelve warriors will not take Mirkwood, even if Glorfindel is one of them!"

Elrond held up his hand. "Silence! Listen to me carefully. They are not _murdering_ him, but they may as well be. They are dosing him with syrup of poppies in large amounts. You will not have forgotten what happened to Lolindir?"

Erestor paled. Then he took a deep breath and became once again the unflappable advisor.

"I will inform Glorfindel myself. Get your things together; we will meet in the courtyard in an hour. Please eat something before you leave and make sure you have miruvor with you. I will send an aide to fetch and carry whatever you need from the infirmary." He turned with a swirl of robes and was gone.

When Elrond, dressed for hard and fast travel, came out to the courtyard he found all in readiness. His bags were tossed before his saddle and secured while a grim-faced Glorfindel gave his final instructions and checked every detail of his company's preparedness.

"We are ready, my lord."

"Erestor, instruct my sons to stay here when they return. We will be too far forward for them to be of any help to us. Elladan will command the guard; you are in charge of all else. Glorfindel, mount your troop. Let us go!"

By changing horses the elves were able to average sixty miles a day, although Glorfindel was glad they would not be fighting at the end of the march (he hoped!). They stopped not for rest, nor food, nor danger. The two groups of Orcs they met were simply mown down, causing barely a pause in the desperate pace.

Elrond rode in silence, thinking through all he knew of the properties of poppy syrup and the ways to counteract the accumulative effects. Unfortunately, there was little. Elves normally healed so quickly that only a few days on the stuff were ever needed. According to Legolas, Estel had been on continuous heavy doses for three weeks. By the time they arrived in Mirkwood it would be nearly four. Elrond's greatest fear was that the healers, deciding a cure had been affected, would stop all the medication at once.

Elrond thought of the elf he had known long ago. His hip had been utterly shattered with no way to repair it. Elrond had been learning his craft and had been allowed to help care for the elf. Lolindir, too, had been heavily dosed with the syrup of poppy for weeks. He had had the potion too quickly withdrawn. Elrond remembered the sickness, of a severity rarely seen in elves, as the body protested the loss of the tincture. The elf had ultimately thrown himself from the healing house window, dashing the life from his body on the pavement below. Elrond had seen him jump. He now looked to Glorfindel to see if they could increase their pace. His seneschal met his eyes sympathetically but shook his head. The horses were being pressed beyond their limits as it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

3 days After Elrond started for Mirkwood

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Legolas was getting increasingly concerned. "He has not even had a small seizure for two weeks. I cannot believe it is good for him to continue to live in this bizarre twilight that he now inhabits. He is not eating and barely has one coherent thought in 24 hours!"

The chief healer agreed. "It is time to stop the syrup. The cycle of seizures has been broken long enough that he should not relapse. The amount he received this morning is the last he will be given." He swept off to attend to other patients.

Legolas sat at the side of Estel's bed and tried to speak with him. But the happy Estel had been replaced with one that lived in a kind of semi-consciousness, rarely responding to questions or conversation. He was so unresponsive that Legolas felt confident that it would take many hours for the boy to begin to throw off the poppy's effects.

"Estel, I have been neglecting my duties these past weeks. There are a few things I must take care of this afternoon, but I will be here this evening when hopefully, the effects of this potion will have begun to wear off. The healers will be checking you constantly, as always, so if you have any need or desire you have but to ask."

Estel made no reply, merely plucking weakly and fretfully at his blankets. Legolas sighed and left the room, looking back uncertainly. Surely the boy would manage without him for a few hours. At that thought he felt a strange frisson of apprehension, but shrugged if off. In spite of their personal feelings, the healers were scrupulous in their care of the young man.

Under normal circumstances, Legolas would have had nothing to worry about. However, an unhappy juxtaposition of events conspired to place Aragorn in deadly danger. The first disaster was a rock fall that seriously injured many elves while they worked to construct an aqueduct to bridge a stone chasm. At the same time, Legolas found to his disgust, that the elf his father was to sentence that day insisted on the presence of his 'friend' Legolas throughout his lengthy exposition on why he had done what he had done. As far as Legolas could see, his statement included the entire history of his House from the time they refused to follow the Valar to Aman. Legolas had had little to do with the elf since they were children, but his sense of duty and decency forced him to stay since so much was at stake. By the rules his father had set long ago, anyone who came before him with a possible sentence of banishment could have their say, however long it took. Legolas fretted inwardly while trying to look interested.

Three hours passed and no healers had gone to visit Aragorn. The chief healer was leading triage in the area where the rock fall occurred. At the moment he was shouting for aid as an old friend bled scarlet rivers that refused to slow, despite the frenzied pressure of fingers and hands.

It had now been seven hours since the last dose.

Aragorn was coming out of his syrup-induced haze quickly. The boy looked around, hoping to see his friend; he was beginning to feel the euphoria the first week of treatment had induced in him. He sat up and looked at the beautiful day outside his window. If Legolas was not here just now, he would take a walk outdoors. Just a short one, to….to…yes! The fumes wreathing around in his brain cleared still further. He would go see his horse! No doubt Legolas had been too busy taking care of him and with state affairs to check on him regularly.

He wavered to his feet and found the mental well-being extended to his physical body as well. His steps were short and uncertain, but he made his way to the wardrobe and struggled into some outdoor clothes. He opened his door for the first time in weeks and staggered into the hallway; he seemed strengthened as he went, and a belief that he was fully restored to health took hold in his mind.

At the stable, the few elves present (most had gone to help with the injured) looked askance at the gaunt, strange-eyed human. He went to the stall of his horse, Sadoreth, the little black horse coming eagerly forward to reunite with his Chosen one. But as he drew closer, he stopped and snorted. He shifted restlessly; his man smelled wrong. It was he, the one the other two-leggers called Aragorn and Estel, but a sweet, sickly redolence overlaid the familiar scent he had longed to breathe into his nostrils again.

Estel mistook the restlessness in his horse for something else. His eyes narrowed accusingly as he watched the elves going about their duties. It was obvious no one had exercised his horse for a long time. He had not intended to ride when he left his room, but he felt so well that surely a short ride would not hurt. He retrieved his tack and went into his horse's stall. He staggered when he tried to fasten the girth and had not the strength to tighten it. That was all right: like elves, he rode bareback more often than not.

Aragorn tried to mount, but was still too weak. He signaled his horse to kneel, as all the battle-trained horses of Imladris could, and clambered on to his horse clumsily; when Sadoreth regained his feet the horse had to shift quickly to keep Estel's weight centered where it needed to be. Sadoreth reacted to the nudging of the boy's heels by going into a smooth, rocking canter. The horse felt a sudden desire to meet with the companion of his Chosen—the one with the yellow mane.

As time went on, Aragorn began to think that someone was watching him from the forest. He urged his horse to greater speed but the normally fiery steed was curiously unwilling. Still, even at a canter they covered ten miles in an hour.

At the palace, Thranduil called a halt to the interminable ramblings of the elf on trial. He had received a message about the rock fall two hours ago, a message which said that all was well in hand and everything that could be done was being done. He had restrained his kingly impulse to stop the proceedings and go to the scene; it was not this wretched elf's fault that at least 20 of his subjects were injured, dying, or dead. Finally, however, his impatient nature, coupled with sincere concern for his subjects, caused him to rise to his feet and declaim, "Thank you for your statement. I have decided to give you one further chance to redeem yourself. Yes, yes—you are welcome—yes, thank you—yes—no doubt, now if you will excuse me…" Still talking, he paced out of the throne room with Legolas at his side.

"Are you going to the accident site?"

"Yes, at once. I would like you to accompany me."

"Of course! I will go to see Estel while the horses are being brought round." Legolas ran swiftly through the halls to the healing wing. He immediately noticed the silence and lack of busy elves, and cursed himself for stupidity: nearly every healer had left to tend the wounded on site. Those remaining were busy preparing the multiple bed wards for the influx soon to come. He ran still faster and threw open Aragorn's door. The empty bed did not surprise him. All afternoon a sensation, not quite an itch, yet very like, had been bothering him. He did not bother to waste time in regretting the morning's decisions. He jettisoned his plan to accompany his father. Later, he would say that naturally Thranduil would not want his son to leave a guest, and the child of a fellow ruler at that, to come to harm in the dangerous lands surrounding the palace. That is what he would say, but not what he would mean. There was no power on earth that would keep him from going after Estel. He ran for the stables, knowing well the first place the boy would go.

His prayers that Estel would still be petting and fussing with his little black horse went unheard. He did not bother to stop to ask questions where there would be no answers. He shouted for a mount and leapt into the saddle of a plunging horse that an elf led to him at a run. He roughly turned the beast about and drove in his heels. They sprinted down the main track while Legolas rode halfway down the horse's side, searching the ground for the distinctive small oval marks that Sadoreth would have made.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to my beta Niroveka!

**Chapter 4**

Estel was not having the pleasant ride he had anticipated. The forest around him was alive with watchers, although when he looked closely at any one spot, he saw no one. In addition, the physical well-being he had felt was long gone. In spite of the warm summer day he felt cold and his stomach hurt badly. He seemed to be having trouble thinking clearly again, and decided he had had enough of Mirkwood healers. He let Sadoreth have his head to take him to Imladris. The fact that he was leagues of dangerous territory and a wild range of mountains away from comfort did not find its way through the fog in his mind. He just knew he had to go home.

Not five miles further on Estel fell from his horse. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and he lay holding his ribs. Sadoreth skidded to a stop and turned back to his Chosen. He nosed the boy as he began to breathe again. Estel lay in a narrow streambed that was dry at this time of year. He was bitterly cold and shudders wracked him; his stomach let him know there was something seriously wrong there and the muscles in his limbs began to cramp. In spite of all this, the young man realized he was not alone. His eyes opened to see a wondrous sight. His brothers must have been coming to Mirkwood to fetch him home, for they stood before him. He sobbed with relief.

"Elladan, Elrohir! I am so glad to see you! I have been ill, and now I am feeling worse than ever. I – " He broke off as a fierce spasm in his abdomen caused him to hiss and curl up into a ball.

After the pain eased a bit, he looked up again. He had expected his brothers to try to help him in some way. Instead, they simply stood staring at him. They turned to look at each other and then walked away.

"Elladan! 'Ro! Brothers! Wait!" he struggled to get to his feet and finally managed it. He tried to follow in the direction his brothers had gone, but they were nowhere to be found. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Another cramp hit his stomach and he vomited by the side of the path. Again and again his body heaved. When the convulsions were over and his body finally released him to move on his own, he drew a shaking hand across his mouth. He spat and sank back on his heels, trembling with weakness.

"Elrohir, Elladan," he whispered. "I know you are here."

Sadoreth was pawing the ground furiously. He knew there was something seriously wrong. He started to leave, a vague, blurry picture of Legolas in his mind. He felt compelled to find the elf. But Estel moaned and the horse returned to his master's side.

Estel's head pounded and his vision blurred, cleared, then blurred again. The shaking, from both cold and severe nausea, was increasing. He hung his head and closed his eyes, afraid to make any move to change his position. The retching had been so severe that he was terrified he would set off another spate of it.

"To think we are forced to call _that _'brother'"

Estel looked around wildly, causing the trees to whirl around him.

"Elrond says he is needed to do something, so we must pretend to care for him."

"The human is thick as a brick if he truly believes that elves as old as we, as well-born as we, could care a fig for such a thing: a stinking, dirty, _thing_."

"He is a fool to think that any elf could care for a man. As well care for a pig in a sty!"

Estel looked apprehensively for the two who had sung lullabies to him, carried him, teased him, and taught him war-craft. He saw nothing.

"In the Hall of Fire he ruins the evenings with his caterwauling."

"Elrond should not force us all to pretend to like him. Imladris is hideous while he is there."

Estel covered his ears with his hands. "Stop. Stop it! You are not my brothers!"

The voices ignored him.

"Well, at least we will not have to endure him for long. What is a hundred years to an elf? I have had hangnails that lasted longer."

"I look forward to the day when the air in Imladris is clean again. As you say, it will not be long. We will forget him before his grave grows green."

One by one, the merciless brothers stripped bare every fear the orphan man-child, raised among elves, had ever fought in the darkness of his room at night. Each was exposed with a casual cruelty that was worse than if they had raged at him. They were indifferent as they wounded him beyond any healing.

They appeared before the boy's eyes again. This time he did not cry out in gladness. This time, he sank down and curled again into a ball of misery. He told himself over and over that they were not real. They were not his real brothers, who loved him and had told him they would die for him.

Smiling as if at an obscene joke, Elladan bent down and stroked Estel's hair. The boy felt the fingers, at first gentle, then tangling roughly in the dark strands. Elladan grasped a fistful of hair and forcibly raised Estel's head to look into his eyes. The pain, though nothing compared to what his body was already feeling, was unmistakably real. 

"Why do you not simply die, human? It is so easy for your kind. Die and leave us our home that we will scrub free of any taint of your presence. Do not imagine that your importance will really matter. We will find an elf to do whatever it is the Valar wanted you to do. Perhaps Legolas. Do you hear me? Die, and leave us in peace!"

Estel's spirit sought shelter in nothingness. As his soul retreated, Sadoreth panicked. He was just a horse, but when he had Chosen the future king, spirit had called to spirit. That link was now breaking and the horse plunged away into the woods, running wildly, his fear beyond thought.

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Legolas rode hard along Estel's trail. He judged he was overtaking the boy quickly, for the hoof-prints he followed spoke of a sober pace, and Legolas was not riding soberly at all. Still, he was worried, for if the prints followed their present course, they would soon enter an area of fine gravel that was extremely difficult to track. Further, while he now rode a defined path, when they reached the gravel the way would open up widely and any direction might be taken. To make matters even worse, heavy clouds that looked ready to rain any minute had replaced the early sunshine. Sure enough, the first large drops hit the ground, the elf, and the horse he now urged to greater speed.

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The previous day, on the trail to Mirkwood 

Glorfindel called a halt, dismounted his troop, and told Elrond in no uncertain terms that the elves and horses must rest and eat. Elrond, standing at the edge of the group closest to Mirkwood, turned exhausted eyes to his friend and began to protest.

"No, my lord! We go no further tonight!" Glorfindel stopped, and began to speak again, quietly. "Elrond, you must listen. Even you can fail if you do not take some modicum of care for yourself. How will you save him if you are comatose or worse? None of us know how to remedy this disaster that faces Estel. We are very close. Let us rest a few hours and tomorrow we will be there before sundown. You must be clear minded and in good condition to deal with what you will find."

Elrond slumped in defeated acknowledgement, his friend catching him before he collapsed entirely. The weariness of the frantic pace, as well as the drain of worry, settled upon Elrond in its entirety. Glorfindel half carried the elf lord to the fire his elves had made. He made signs for the two to be left in peace, and the others moved away to start another fire some distance from the first. Glorfindel sat cross-legged on the ground, and held his lord against his breast. He began to sing and his voice was a soothing balm that coaxed Elrond to let go and slumber. One young warrior tentatively approached with a bedroll blanket. He held it up and questioned with his eyes. Glorfindel smiled and nodded without breaking his song. The elf, who worshiped his lord with all the fervor of the young, tenderly tucked it around Elrond's sleeping form.

Glorfindel sang on into the night, looking occasionally at the troubled face below his. For a few hours, he thought, you will be cared for, as you have always cared for others. Elrond seemed to read the mind of the elf who had protected his family long before he was born. He relaxed fully and slept deeply, taking comfort for once instead of giving it.

End chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Buried 5/8

Chapter 5 

The rain washed the tears and dirt from Estel's face. Eventually, it woke him, though his mind fought hard to remain in sweet oblivion. Estel remembered everything that had happened and regarded himself with dull hopelessness. Were those his real brothers? Did it matter? Whether real or not, did they not say what Estel had always feared to be true?

One part of him struggled with the despair that seemed to smother the very life in his body. Think, Estel! Remember! He had seen his brothers with birds that had broken wings, with frightened children, with badgers caught in torturous traps. They were not cruel! Even if they hated him they would never have expressed such viciousness. They would not have treated an Orc so! They were not real….

Estel opened his eyes. Perhaps. Maybe. That hand in his hair had hurt. He began to sit up, being careful not to set off the nausea or shaking again. He felt a little better. Though the rain made him colder, it also seemed to wash away some of the cloudiness in his mind. He managed to get to his knees.

However, the poppy syrup was not ready to leave his body in peace. Estel did not know that the sickness he was experiencing was his body demanding the potion that had kept him sedated for so long. Inevitably, the pain, trembling, chills, and nausea quickly returned. To that dreadful list was added a burning fever. The cramps tried to tie his body in knots. He groaned pitifully and then was ashamed of his weakness. The nausea had returned redoubled, and this time what he expelled was streaked with scarlet. Blood vessels in his throat had ruptured during the extreme paroxysms. He began to wonder if the (false?) Elladan and Elrohir were about to get their wish. Surely he could not survive in this state much longer. And then Elrond stood before him.

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Legolas swore in a steady stream of invective. His voice was not angry, rather a sort of imprecation, though the words were far different from the prayers he had learned at his mother's knee. He was criss-crossing his way across the gravel bed on foot for the third time. Rain dripped steadily from his brow and blurred his vision. He repeatedly swept water and hair from his face with one hand. It was hopeless. There was simply no trace left to be found. No traces except his own, he thought savagely.

At that moment he heard galloping hooves. He cocked his head and tried to block out the rain and other noises. Yes! It was Sadoreth! The horse from Harad had distinctive gaits. He whistled shrilly and the black horse crashed through some brush at the edges of the gravel bed. Unfortunately, Estel was not on him. Legolas tried to approach his friend's horse but Sadoreth, though vaguely pleased to have encountered the elf who was often with his Chosen, was too distraught to be handled. He shied violently and his eyes rolled white.

Legolas murmured soothingly to Sadoreth. The horse's ears flicked forward and back and his crest lowered a bit. He listened to the familiar voice. This one was the only being besides Estel to ever sit on his back. The only other one he allowed on his back. Both ears came forward and he finally stepped toward the elf.

Legolas' hand crept up the neck and caressed the silken cheek and velvet muzzle. "Where is Estel, black one, where is your Chosen?"

The horse simply stood and endured the elf's touch. Legolas sighed and spoke sternly. "Do not ever tell him about this! He has these nonsensical ideas about elves versus humans. What I am about to do will not help that situation."

The elf pulled the horse's head around so that they faced each other. Then he breathed into the fine, black nostrils before him. He told the horse that he needed to find Estel. He placed both hands at the sides of the elegant head and pictured Estel's face clearly in his mind.

The horse snorted and began to paw the ground. Legolas signaled his own horse to follow and sprang upon Sadoreth's back. The horse wheeled and gravel flew as together they started in the direction of his Chosen.

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Estel shivered and retched again. One Elrond scornfully derided his physical weakness. "Sniveling engwar! Wallowing in your own vomit! Crawling like a beaten dog, whimpering and whining."

"Ada, help me!" Estel gasped, struggling to reach a shaking hand toward his father. The stern figure swept his robes' skirts distastefully away from his son.

The other Elrond was worse.

That one stooped and patted his son's hair perfunctorily. "Such a shame. Years wasted in raising a light-weight. You cannot help it, of course. We tried, all of us, but look at the material we had to work with. Estel! Hah! We should have named you Kaulo. You are weak, cowardly; a slaveling when we needed a king."

Estel tried to ignore them, but their words bit deeply. He drew his hands along the stony ground and put his palms on either side of his ribs. He pushed with all his might. His head moved upward a few inches, then his chest. His arms were shaking; his gasping breath whistling harshly. The first Elrond laughed heartily at the sight, as though it was the funniest thing seen in a long, long life. The other Elrond clucked his tongue sadly. The two finally walked off, arm in arm. Estel looked after them in disbelieving sorrow.

Estel's arms gave out and his head hit the ground hard. Two familiar boots entered his field of vision and stopped within inches of his face.

"No," he whispered in utter despair, "Not you. Please, not you."

The owner of the boots sank gracefully onto his heels before Estel's face. He spoke conversationally, but his words were carefully placed darts that pierced the struggling heart.

"Did you know that I am paid to be your friend? Not in gold—my father has enough of that and to spare! But there are some things gold cannot obtain. Admittance to the libraries of Imladris, for instance. I have no intention of remaining a provincial Silvan all my life. Our 'friendship' gives me intimate acquaintance with the great elves from former times, those who manipulate the lesser beings of Middle Earth like chess pieces. Oh, I _am _sorry; you are one of those pieces are you not?"

Estel whimpered. This was worse than all the rest. "Legolas, please, do not say these things. You are my friend. You said so!" He repeated desolately, "You said so…"

"Foolish human. You are old enough not to believe in fairy stories. Elrond recently told you who you are. So all these years you were really Aragorn, not Estel…Estel is a lie. It was necessary that you believed you were loved; you were a tiny child, after all. But you are no longer a child, and we need no longer pretend."

The pain caused by his beautiful friend's words made a mockery of all his body had put him through. The loving tones with destructive intent smoothly slid a dagger's point into the boy's ardent soul. He did not struggle as his heart slowed and faltered. He seemed to watch from a distance as his heart began, not to break, as the poets said, but to tear. To tear in long, shining, bloody strands, each with some cruelty written upon it with white-hot runes. Ripping very, very slowly, one at a time, stinging and burning, until they fell, to lie in the grey ashes of death.

The bludgeoned boy summoned the strength to whisper a small triumph, "It seems I do have some elf-like qualities after all, for I am fading, Legolas."

The elf laughed softly and musically. "Then fade, my friend. I believe that I am now sufficiently a part of Elrond's 'family' that I need not fear being turned away. I will weep most distressfully over your grave."

Legolas drew one finger tip slowly along the line of Estel's jaw, then moved it higher to catch a tear as it fell from the sorrowing eyes. He tasted the tear and smiled.

"So much pain. But you have already begun the remedy –"

Suddenly Estel's body felt even greater pain as it was roughly handled. The elf shimmered before Estel's eyes and disappeared. He heard the same voice, but it was not smooth and cutting like a scalpel. It was urgent and frightened. Then he fell again into the darkness, his mind shuddering away from the pain of both body and spirit.

"Estel, you must stay with me. Estel! Ai! Illuvitar, help me! What is wrong with him!"

Legolas had flung himself across the dry streambed that held his young friend's nearly lifeless body. He saw the signs of grave illness but did not know the cause. Finding no physical injury, he risked hauling the boy up in his arms and carrying him to his horse.

Sadoreth crowded Legolas and pushed his nose against the limp form in the elf''s arms.

"No, Sadoreth! You have done well, but you must let me take him. You cannot carry us both, great though your courage may be."

He put Estel upon his own horse and mounted behind him. They started back to the palace at a dead run, only the elf's superb balance and strength keeping them both in place. Sadoreth ran alongside.

End chapter 5

Engwar – 'the sickly', mankind

Kaulo – great burden, affliction


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks to my beta Niroveka!

**Chapter 6**

Elrond was looking, with a carefully blank expression, at the chief healer of Mirkwood. Inside him fury mounted, but he had not survived all he had in the long Ages without learning how to control himself. The healer was not up to his weight anyway; he was grey with exhaustion and grief. Behind Elrond, Glorfindel glared with arms crossed. Even in his current state the healer had no difficulty in recognizing 'the Balrog Slayer.'

"I assure you, Lord Elrond, we have taken every care of him. He was barely conscious this morning; I cannot understand where he could be." He peered about as though expecting to see the human in some nook or cranny of the room. He turned back to Elrond. "I do not understand what I am being accused of. The syrup of poppies stopped the seizures, surely that was of paramount importance?"

A crack appeared in Elrond's control. "You are being accused of being a heartless, incompetent half-wit! For your sake I hope you are merely stupid, for if you are not then you have committed the greatest crime a healer may commit! In my younger days you would have been brought before the High King to answer for this. Even in these sad times, we may yet arrange something!" He stopped and took a deep breath; Estel was far more important than eviscerating this pathetic excuse for a healer. He continued, in the voice that had commanded Gil-Galad's army, "This room now belongs to me. No one will enter or leave without my permission. I am taking over my son's care—assuming we are able to find him! You will not come near him unless I am present. You and at least one other healer will assist me in any way that I desire, day or night. You will clear a room on this corridor for myself and my seneschal. That is all I have to say to you—for now!" He turned abruptly away and the chief healer practically crawled to the door.

Glorfindel sprang across the room and reached the door just as the healer did. He bowed with a great flourish and placed his hand atop the healer's on the handle. His hand closed over the other's and tightened. And tightened. The healer's knees buckled. As his bow brought him close to the healer he said menacingly, "Lord Elrond is an elf of the highest nobility of conduct. There are many things he will not allow himself to do. I, on the other hand, am not so delicate in my sensibilities." The healer made up his mind, right then and there, to sail on the next available ship.

Before Elrond could call his seneschal to heel, they heard heavy, running footsteps in the hall. Legolas suddenly thrust open the door with his back…and swung around to bring an ominously still body into the room.

The next few minutes were filled with feverish action as Elrond barked rapid fire orders at Glorfindel, the chief healer, and Legolas (he was having some difficulty with the healer).

"Yes, the syrup of poppies causes this illness, but he must have a dose at once if we are to save him."

Estel had been placed on his bed, wet clothes and all. In haste, Elrond measured half of the amount poor Estel had been forced to take for a month into a horn spoon. He pulled out Estel's cheek and poured in the syrup, smoothing the throat until the boy swallowed.

Legolas sat on the edge of the bed, chaffing the limp hands and wrists, and ordering his friend to stay with him.

"Estel, stop this nonsense and come back at once! If you do not, I will sell Sadoreth to a drunken Easterling!"

"A dire threat indeed." Elrond summoned a small desperate smile which quickly faded. "Legolas, we have little time; he has traveled far down the White Road. See what you can do to find him while I tend his body."

Legolas tightened his grip on the cold hands.

"Estel? My friend. My brother. Do not go and leave me now! We have many, many years of adventuring before us."

Estel was unaware he had moved nearly twenty miles from where his nightmare began. He was still caught in the vision of his disintegrating heart, and the pile of cold ashes was now far larger than the fading remnant that remained suspended in space above them.

Then something caught at his attention. Though beyond caring about anything, Estel still became aware that something alive and vital had come into his surroundings. He recognized one of the voices that had tormented him and flinched away from it. But with the voice came a sharp physical pain that yet brought life, not death.

Legolas held one of Estel's hands in each of his own and pressed them against his forehead. His grip was so tight that bone and sinew were threatened. He fervently called the boy with his own strong heart and his love for this troublesome human child. He willed his strength to depart from him and enter the failing body before him. He began to speak of his life with the one called Estel. Spoke of the apprehension with which he had held the small squalling bundle that was placed in his arms…spoke of the wonder he felt when he began, in some desperation, to sing softly, and how the mouth closed and the eyes looked directly into his own…spoke of the way his throat tightened when a small human child pelted down the hall calling "Legolas! Legolas! Legolas!" until he was close enough to swarm up the slender elf and throw his arms tightly around his neck. He spoke of many things, while his grip on the hands never lessened.

The cool, dispassionate voice of the cruel Legolas lingered to torment Estel and make him question the life that seemed to flow into him. But now he heard another voice, strangely allied with the pain he felt. This new voice had great power… and Estel made up his mind to make a small effort, the only kind he could make, to close his ears to the one and reach out to the other.

The fingers that were bloodless and white in the elf's desperate grasp moved the slightest bit.

Elrond commanded sternly, "Estel! You must come to us NOW. You cannot linger on the White Road another moment, or we will lose you!"

Estel began to remember other things, events and times the life-giving voice did not mention; like the time when an elven prince had risked his life to save the human that called him friend and brother.

His spirit began to struggle again, fighting free from the entrapping, weighty chains of lies and contempt. One did not risk one's life to gain access to a library! The remnant of heart gave a spasmodic beat, then another, and another.

At the same time as his spirit broke free, the poppy syrup was quieting the worst distress of his body. His shudders decreased and he took the first pain-free breath in hours.

Estel stirred a very little and muttered unintelligibly. Elrond snatched at the strengthening cordial the chastened healer held ready and tipped it into Estel's mouth. He was able to swallow on his own. Glorfindel massaged the boy's legs gently and slowly, yet firmly enough to help Estel's weak heart force blood through his body. The eyelashes fluttered before the silver eyes.

"Legolas? Ada? I heard you calling…." The voice was the faintest thread of whisper.

Legolas relaxed his grip and the boy hissed in pain. The elf looked appalled at the black and blue marks that were already beginning to develop on the white hands.

"Estel, I am so sorry, I did not realize – "

The boy's voice was a little stronger. "It is well, Legolas. Your hold helped… me to focus… on you and Ada."

Elrond seated himself on the bed next to his son. His felt too weak with relief to remain standing. He felt the boy's cheeks and brow with the back of his hand, and smoothed the wet, tangled hair gently out of Estel's eyes.

"How are you feeling now? Can you tell me? What hurts, what feels wrong in other ways?"

"My hands hurt," he smiled tremulously, "and my stomach does, too, but I do not think I will be sick…my head's pounding… and I am so cold. I am very tired. I want to sleep…." and his voice trailed away.

Elrond checked the vital signs carefully and multiple times. At last he sat back, satisfied. "This is a natural sleep. I think he is well and truly with us again."

Glorfindel had continued gently massaging the long limbs. He looked up at Elrond. "His skin is still cold and clammy, and though I have his leggings off him, the rest of his clothes are soaking wet, as are Legolas'"

Elrond smiled a genuine, happy smile. "These things are easy to mend, my friend. Let us begin to remedy some of them."

There were enough chores for everyone. The chief healer went to the kitchen to order the broths and other foods that would best strengthen the body without challenging the queasy stomach. At a pointed look from Elrond, Legolas asked a passing elf for clothes for himself, but he was the one who went, still dripping, to get a clean, dry shirt and leggings for Estel. Glorfindel, showing considerable talent, managed to change the wet bedding without moving the boy very much at all. Elrond carefully inspected Estel's hands, gently manipulating each finger. Though the bones and joints were badly bruised, he found no breaks He laid the hands down on the bed covers, showing great reluctance to let go of them completely. Then, when all the loving attentions had been completed, he called Glorfindel and Legolas into the hallway.

"There are things I must tell you before he wakes. It appears that he will live, and I thank you, Legolas once again, for helping to return my son to me. But there is a difficult time ahead of us, and you need to know all that I can tell you. Which, I am afraid, is not very much."

The others nodded and listened intently.

"His body has come to depend on the syrup. Tomorrow he will begin all this over again as his body reacts to its absence."

Glorfindel interposed, "I do not understand, Elrond, how can his body desire that which will eventually kill it?"

"I do not understand fully myself, but surely you have fought alongside men who smoke pipe-weed? And have seen how some of them become quite desperate and even a little sick if they run out and cannot obtain more?"

"I have, and have often wondered at it. So the boy must have the poppy syrup and yet he must… not have it. How do we resolve this?"

"We will give him a little each day, trying to make it less and less. I will not begin the decreasing at once; he needs to gather his strength for the ordeal ahead."

"Ordeal?" asked Legolas, his voice rising in volume, "Has he not been through enough? And what will this ordeal consist of?"

Elrond made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Essentially, we must allow him to suffer the same things he has suffered today –" Legolas and Glorfindel began to protest and he held up his hand in calming motions. "Peace, both of you. We will use the syrup to keep the worst at bay. But he will have to suffer some effects or we will never wean him from it completely. We will have to juggle the requirement to stop the syrup with the necessity to make this endurable for him…I am frightened for him, my friends, for I have never done this before, or heard of it being done. I will be learning as I go."

Glorfindel was distinctly unsettled by that admission. His faith in his healer lord was absolute; he did not care to hear that Elrond was not sure how to proceed. He did, however, know how to proceed with his duties: being a support to his elven liege.

"The Valar would bring their sick to you, if ever they became sick. You will have him restored as quickly as may be, and I and Legolas, and these pestilential Mirkwood healers, will give you all the assistance we can." He clasped Elrond's shoulder in a rare show of affection. Elrond copied his gesture and nodded his thanks.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Buried 7/8

Author: Pentangle

Rating: T (Major angst, mean people, physical/emotional pain)

Characters: Aragorn, Elrond, Legolas, Glorfindel, minor part by Sadoreth

Summary: Young Aragorn has a dreadful time in Mirkwood.

Slightly AU: Elrond has recently told Estel something (not all) about who he is and about his destiny.

Many thanks to my beta Niroveka!

Chapter 7

The next few days passed quickly, with Estel gaining a little strength and Elrond making copious notes as he experimented very carefully with different dosages. As he had feared, he found that reducing the dosage even a little caused Estel distress. The only time he could eat without being sick was when he wandered in his bleak twilight. He had to be spoon fed by his three caretakers. Fortunately he was very malleable when in this state, if indeed unresponsive, so he swallowed the food placed in his mouth, willingly turned his body about for tending, and made no attempt to leave his bed. At other times he muttered unintelligibly, but Legolas, watching closely, did not think he was speaking to the three in the room; it disturbed him greatly, though he was not sure why. After all, many people speak with the unseen when they are ill or injured.

At least once a day, the three consulted with each other in the hallway. On the fourth day since Estel had returned to the sick room, Legolas brought up his concerns.

"When the symptoms are upon him, he speaks with those we cannot see. He seems in greater distress at those times."

"I believe—though as I have said over and over, I cannot be sure—that the physical pains are what causes his distress of mind."

Legolas no longer believed that statement true, but did not question again. They were all guessing, and Elrond's guesses held by far the greater chance of being correct. He recalled his attention to Elrond who was still speaking.

"I think we must begin to wean him from the poppies. I would prefer that he be stronger but we are making little progress as things now stand. He is young and his body, as we know well from his numerous exploits, can withstand much. The next time his mind is aware I will explain what will happen to him, and secure his willingness to accede to our plan."

"Accede to our plan to torment him further, you mean," put in Legolas who had still not come to terms with what they had to do to restore Estel to his former health of mind and body.

Elrond sighed. "Essentially, yes. Legolas, I must have your acceptance before we begin. Not just your acceptance, but also your determination to help him and see this through. I cannot do this without your help. Do you think I want to see my son in distress and pain? He seems so much younger, lying there helpless and confused. I would go through this myself for him if I could, but I cannot. In the coming ordeal, all of us will have moments of anger and a desire to stop the process. That is what we must not do. Once we begin, we must continue to the end. Can I count on you both?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "In the past, I have followed you into the Fire with a pail of water. I will help you to save Estel. As you will."

"Legolas?"

Troubled blue eyes met compelling grey ones. "You are sure we must do this?"

Elrond lost a little of his control. "I am not sure of anything! Perhaps there is an herb in the Shire that will cure this quickly and painlessly. But if there is I do not know of it! I have thought of nothing else since I received your message and this… 'plan' is the best one I can come up with! Now…will...you…help me?"

There was a pause.

"Forgive me, Elrond. I will help you save my brother."

"And if, once begun, he screams for you to stop me?"

Shaken, Legolas whispered, "I will do as you say, even if he begs me otherwise."

That evening, as the syrup began to wear off, Elrond did not administer another dose. In the brief window between impenetrable fog and the onset of the physical distress, he prepared to speak with his son. Legolas and Glorfindel left the room so that the two could be alone. Elrond sat a long time holding Estel's hand. After several attempts to speak died before the words passed his lips, he chastised himself for cowardice and began explaining to his son what he was going to do to him.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Glorfindel conversed in the room close to Estel's that had been given to them as a place to rest, when they had a few moments to do so. After half an hour, neither could have repeated one word the other had said; they both spun around at the slight sound from the doorway. Elrond stood there with tears, and pride, in his eyes.

"Well…?"

Elrond came into the room. "He said for us to do what we must. He said that he trusted –" his voice cracked and he steadied it. "- trusted me with all his heart and that…he knew I would make him well. He told me not to worry that we must allow him to hurt so badly. He asked my forgiveness in case he said things while in pain that would wound me…He asked me to tell you both the same."

Legolas abruptly turned and stared out the window, but Glorfindel had long ago ceased to care if anyone saw his tears. He wiped them away and said to Elrond, "He will be a good king, for he always thinks of others before himself. An uncommon thing in a man or elf of his age! How have you left him?"

"I gave him one last dose for his comfort's sake, and to give us time to prepare for what tomorrow will bring. I will stay with him for a while. I suggest you two try to get some rest. There will be little chance for it in the coming days."

Estel retched into the basin his father held while Legolas steadied his shoulders. When at last he lay back weakly, his father bathed his face gently and swabbed out his mouth with a twist of dampened linen cloth. Legolas replaced the blankets meant to ward off his chills. Glorfindel took away the stones, now cooled, that had been placed against the boy's legs and feet. The second healer brought him freshly warmed stones wrapped in flannel, which he placed carefully under the covers. Estel ignored the three and spoke to the air.

"You are not real," he hissed in a hoarse and broken whisper. "You are not my brothers! I will not listen to you, I will NOT."

Legolas, although he had been vindicated, was not happy. As the long week wore on, it became obvious to everyone that the boy was tormented by something even worse than the dire physical distress he felt.

Elrond lightly tapped one smooth cheek.

"Estel, can you hear me?"

A sob. "Do I want to? Who are you?"

"Estel, it is I, your Adar, and Legolas and Glorfindel."

"Glorfindel! Why do you not torment me, as well? I am sure you hate me, too."

Glorfindel said gently, "You are our Estel. None of us hate you. We love you. You have had a place in my heart from the first time you were laid in my arms."

Legolas claimed the boy's attention. "Estel, please, do not listen to those others-"

"It is all right, Legolas. Ada…Lord Elrond will never turn away such a shining example of elvendom. You need no longer pretend to care for me."

Legolas looked to Elrond pleadingly. "Give him just a little more!"

"No." (He wondered curiously why his voice sounded so confident when his mind staggered under the weight of so many uncertainties) "We have reduced the dose by three-quarters so far. Just a little longer and he will be rid of this hell for good."

Glorfindel, as he always seemed to be these days, was massaging the limbs to reduce the effects of the terrible muscle cramps. He worked with his hands beneath the blankets and felt with anger the cold shudders that shook the young body. He had seen much, and some of it had given him nightmares for a thousand years, but he had rarely seen in one person both body and spirit so tormented. He was too young! It was too much for a man fully grown, let alone a child!

Elrond, standing on a knife edge, waited and waited and waited, his heart crying for him to dose his son again. His hands shook but his mind sternly told him he must not, not yet. At long last, he moved forward with the little horn spoon and administered a very little. After a time, the shudders lessoned to the point of normal shivering. Estel, under Legolas' sweet coaxing, drank first one tiny sip of broth, then another. His still trembling hand caught at Legolas' and he whispered, "They are gone now."

Legolas clung to the cold hand and repeated for the hundredth time, "They are always gone, Estel, for they are not real. What they say are lies; you must be strong and turn away from them to those who love you."

Estel began to slip once again into an uneasy doze. "It is so hard…..what if they are real and you are not?"

The strange world he now lived in was becoming the only one he could remember. In this place, there were two of each of the people he loved. Sometimes they appeared one at a time; at others they appeared together. He often did not know which one he was dealing with. Those were the worst times, since, for indeed, sometimes one Elrond would say how he could not bear to touch his son, while the other would stroke his brow with a love that surely could not be counterfeited. There had been some improvement in the situation, though. At least he was down to only one of each Adar. The times he had been faced with two hateful Elronds at once had been horrible beyond imagining.

Elrond drew his helpers into the hallway for yet another conference. "I am ready to end this. He will receive no more." He looked at Legolas but the blond elf simply nodded. "What I think will happen is the effects will be very severe for a short time, hopefully less than 24 hours, and then will taper off. This is the most dangerous time since we began. But if we can get him through this then it will be over. Let us turn him over to the healers while he sleeps and refresh ourselves as best we can."

With that the elves separated to bathe, eat, and spend a few minutes alone to gather their strength, and their determination that Estel would fully recover.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The next day exceeded everyone's expectations in awfulness. Elrond had to administer strengthening draughts again and again to maintain anything approaching a steady heartbeat.

Glorfindel's arms, like steel bands, surrounded the boy while he retched to prevent him breaking a rib. Legolas forcefully straightened the arms and legs when the cramps tried to bend them in directions they could not go. And bad as these physical effects were, his caretakers feared his internal battles were even worse.

"Ah, poor human child. Your suffering is so intense. You were so far down the White Road, so close to rest and peace. You can still travel it. See? Even now you have moved a goodly distance along it."

Stubbornly: "You are not my Ada."

"No," said the voice, very gently and reprovingly, "No, for how could I be father to, to a… well, I hesitate to say it when you are so unwell."

Legolas smiled. "Say it to a monstrosity, he means. But truly, Estel, what is there here for you? Let go, and know peace."

In desperation Estel began to sing to himself the song the real Legolas had composed, about the race he had ridden against Glorfindel. Estel had begged him not to include the parts about disobedience, foolishness, and recklessness, but had loved the song anyway.

Legolas ignored the song. "Do you remember the dreams you had as a child? Not the nightmares, not those, but the ones where your mother and father came to you? They came and played with you on the swing and had picnics with you. Can you remember that, Aragorn? Remember Arathorn and how you missed him?"

"Stop! I will not listen."

"Gilraen sang lovely lullabies, I have no doubt. She would ease your pain if you went to her, Estel. She is waiting for you. Arathorn is waiting for you. Go to them."

As Estel's struggling body weakened, his spirit traveled farther down the Road once more. He began to remember how he had missed his human parents. He began to long for the peace of death, and their reunion.

His dearest friend laid his hand against Estel's cheek. Which Legolas was this? Surely if he were truly dying, the real Legolas would urge him to seek his parents. His Legolas would try to make the passage from one life to the next a little easier for his brother-through-love.

"Legolas? Should I go?"

"I think I see them, Estel. Hurry. Their arms are held out to you. Go to them."

Estel started walking toward the horizon on the sparkling pavement.

The struggling body suddenly went still and Elrond fearfully put his ear to the chest.

He looked up abruptly. "He has stopped fighting. We will lose him."

"NO! I will not let him go!" Legolas grabbed Estel and pulled him up roughly. He slapped him hard. "Estel! You will LISTEN to me! You only think of death because of those others! I do not know what they say to you but they lie, they lie!"

Elrond tried to pull Estel away from Legolas but the elf turned on him a ferocious expression of bared teeth and wild eyes.

"I will not let him go! I will go to the Halls of Waiting and hail him forth! Estel! Come back!….Ai! Ai! Estel!" He crumpled upon the boy he held, and from his mouth came an unearthly noise. In a human or wolf it would be called howling, but in the elf it was a beautiful and anguished lamentation. It transfixed those who heard it like a lance. Even the two healers from Mirkwood sank to their knees in grief at the sound.

In the strange world where Estel walked a beautiful Road that beckoned him on, he thought he heard weeping. Weeping that would break a heart of stone. His healer's spirit—which in life he had only just begun to recognize—hesitated. Someone was in terrible pain. He tried to walk on, but could not. The weeping pulled at him and he turned and started back.

Legolas tried to stand in his way. "You must go to meet your parents. They have been waiting so long. Just a little further and you will see them."

"What of him who weeps?"

"I hear nothing."

"Yet still he weeps. Let me help this sufferer and then I will go to my parents."

"No! Turn and go – "

Estel said flatly, "You are not my Legolas. He would never ask me to leave someone in pain. He also would help them." He started walking back the way he had come, as quickly as he could with his weak body, toward the one who wept. As he went he saw along the roadside those others who had hurt him so. They spoke again, repeating their vile poisons, but the keening wail pierced through their hateful voices and he hurried on toward it.

Elrond worked over the body of his son as tears ran down his cheeks. He pushed on the chest and breathed into Estel's mouth, but he believed his efforts were in vain. Across the room, Legolas struggled in Glorfindel's arms, still moaning the strange, haunting lament. Tears shone in the golden warrior's eyes, but he did not lessen his hold. The younger elf had resisted having the boy taken from him. Glorfindel bore scratches and gouges. He feared Legolas would fade…his grief was so intense.

Suddenly the body convulsed and drew its own breath. Elrond checked the heart and found it erratically struggling, but beating. He shouted for more herbs and tinctures, and the awestruck Mirkwood healers scrambled at the commands of the elf who could defeat death itself.

An hour later Estel was conscious and very, very tired. The poppies had finally let him slip from their grasp, and the shaking, nausea, and fever were gone. He would need much rest and there would be setbacks, but the worst was finally…over.

Estel held the hand of the prince that sat beside him. Legolas let his hand lay limply and just stared into the silver eyes.

"You saved me," Estel smiled. "Ada and Glorfindel, too, but you most of all. You called me back from the Road and I could not deny you. I was confused. I thought the Legolas in that place _was _you, but then I heard you weep…"

Legolas did not respond. He was still lost in the wonder of the warmth in the hand that held his, in the chest that rose and fell, in the pulse beneath his fingers.

Glorfindel came to stand next to Elrond by the window, away from the bed. "Elrond, something troubles me."

"You have not had enough trouble for a while?"

"Of course I am glad that he is well, or soon will be, but I have been thinking. Have you not wondered about those 'others' he spoke of in his delirium? Elrond, there _are _no 'others'. They came from his mind. The potion created them but it had to have something to work with. That means the things they said to hurt him came from his mind, as well. Elrond, those others seemed to want him to die. He believes those things, or at least can still wonder about them. In spite of all our assurances through the years, some part of him still doubts that we can love him. In addition, you have only just told him the truth about Arathorn and at least some of what that means. I think it is obvious he is having trouble dealing with it."

Elrond exhaustedly dragged a hand across his forehead and rubbed the area between his brows. "You are right, of course. I have not had time to think…there has been so much….I have been so frightened…" He gathered himself together. "We will not speak of this to him now. Let us get him strong again, and above all, _home_. Then I will decide how to deal with what has been revealed. But, Glorfindel, I tell you this: for today and some time to come the only thing I am going to think about is that I have my son alive."

Elrond turned and walked to the side of the bed. Estel had gone to sleep again. His father straightened the blankets for the tenth time around the sleeping youth. He held Estel's hand and marveled, like Legolas, that it was warm and supple, not cold and stiffening. He felt the boy's throat and drew a long shaking breath at the pulse that throbbed and strengthened. After a long time gazing at his son he turned to Legolas. "Go lie down; you are nearly as exhausted as he. Use the cot by the window and get some rest."

Legolas just shook his head and continued watching the young face before him that held life and the promise of years together yet to come.

"Glorfindel, will you please take Legolas –"

"Not for all the treasure in Mirkwood! Look at this! And this one! I need a healer! That demon has scarred me for life!" But Glorfindel's eyes laughed. In truth, they were all giddy with relief.

More seriously he continued, "Leave him. After a time he will fall asleep beside Estel and then I will move him then. For now, he has earned his place. In fact, I want to join him. I do not think I will let that boy out of my sight for a long time to come!"

"Now that you mention it, I would like to join him myself."

Some time later, the meek chief healer entered the room to ask if there was anything else that might be needed now that the crisis was over. The sight that met his eyes became a legend in Mirkwood for as long as the kingdom lasted in Middle Earth.

Three elves and a human shared one bed. A son of Earendil, a fabled lord of Gondolin, a young prince and a human boy. Arms and legs were tangled. Glorfindel snored. The healer smirked.

"Ah, they look just like a basket of puppies," he thought. "Extraordinary, terrifying, demented puppies."

End

A/N

This is part 1 of 3 in a series.

Thanks to the mental health professional who helped me with information about severe laudanum addiction. I chose laudanum because it causes more delusions than opiates alone, though no one is quite sure why. It is a tincture of brandy (or some other strong spirit) and opium. I figured the elves would use it since the brandy keeps the opium fresh and usable for a long time. In old books it is listed as an anti-convulsive, so the chief healer wasn't totally crazy!


End file.
